What? Allison jerked on the bed. That sexy, husky voice spoke English? English with a perfect American accent no less?
Damn. How stupid was she? Dee as in D. Dylan. She pushed him off her and looked frantically for her clothes.
“You! You’re Dylan Johnson.”
“Look, Alli, I’m sorry. I just…”
“Don’t talk to me.” Alli struggled into her jeans, forgetting the panties, and hurriedly buttoned her blouse. God, the things she had said. Heat burned her cheeks. She knew she was turning twelve shades of red.
“Allison, please.” Dylan reached for her.
“Don’t you dare touch me, you son of a bitch!” She whipped open the door and walked out to face her brother. “Michael!” She squealed and raced into his arms.
“Hey, chica.” Her brother returned her embrace. “You okay? You look a little…disheveled.”
“Yeah, well—Alli cleared her throat—“this is what ten hours in coach does to me.” That and a romp with your bastard friend. “I’ll be fine after a shower and a good night’s sleep.”
“Where’s Dylan?”
“Right here.”
Alli turned. Tousled and gorgeous, Dylan walked out of the bedroom tucking his shirt into his jeans. His feet were bare.
Could he be any more obvious?
“He was just putting my bags in the room,” Alli said, hoping her brother bought it.
“Great,” Michael said. “Thanks for taking care of her for me. In fact, I have another favor to ask you.”
“What is it?” Dylan asked.
“Master Yang needs me to give a private lesson tonight. He’s not available, and one of his students is testing for second dan tomorrow and she really needs some last minute help.”
“Oh, Mike,” Alli said, gesturing to Dylan, “can’t he do it?”
“Sorry, Alli. The student’s father requested me. He’s a big wig investor so I need to do this. Plus, it’s money in my pocket.” He turned to Dylan. “Can you take care of her tonight? Take her to dinner? Show her around?”
Dylan glanced at Alli, raking his eyes over her, his lips curving slightly upward.
Warmth—from anger or passion?—spread over her cheeks and neck.
“Sure, no problem.”
“Thanks, D. I owe you one.” He kissed Allison on the forehead. “I’ll be back later this evening. Though you’ll probably be crashed by then. So I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Mike…”
“Don’t worry. Dylan’ll take good care of you.”
No doubt. As her brother left the apartment, she walked swiftly past Dylan to her bedroom and plunked down onto the rumpled bed.
“Alli,” he said, standing in the doorway, “are you going to give me the silent treatment the rest of the night?”
She wanted to, but she couldn’t help responding. “Why shouldn’t I? You gave me the silent treatment all afternoon. You let me go on and on and… You’re a first class jerk. Why didn’t you tell me you could speak English?”
“Well”—he smiled—“I never actually said I couldn’t speak English. You just assumed.”
Allison seethed. “You’re infuriating. You know damn well you should have told me.”